Computing

The live mud of the body
to die for it
to live for it
our bulk drinks the air of paradise
spurting at the nostrils
like a madman,
who doesn't want to be heart-broken
we don't know where we are
carrying the weight of the world
survival pulls to pieces

Dark gesso tries to revise
gnaws at everything deep inside
the warmth of the skin hanging near
slips into a cold winter mood stone
eyes are ground shut

A fragrant oil burns
fire of endurance
etched in purple flame
to lift burden off the chest
a cup of spirit pours
is it wine, is it blood?